Scenes
by secretmonkey
Summary: Scenes from the various trailers (including season 3) expanded and (possibly) explained. Mostly Reamy but newest is not (angry Karma). Non Reamy fans might want to skip to that one.
1. Feelings

_**A/N: There's more Just For Me (and I Hate Myself for Loving You... and You) coming, I swear. Three jobs has kinda killed my writing time. But then a couple of tumblr anons (obvious Karmy shippers) saw the trailer for 2B and got it in their heads to talk smack to me (why me? Who knows.) And they both basically challenged me to 'write your way out of' things from the trailer that seemed to kill Reamy. So I did. Which resulted in this pair of short one shots based on stuff from the trailer. There might be more, if people like them (and/or ask for specific bits from the trailer) cause they don't take me long to do and they're kind of fun**_

_**This one is based on the scene where Amy tells Reagan she's having feelings for Karma again...**_

Reagan sat on the couch, staring at Amy. She hadn't known what to expect when she came back. Sure, they'd ended things on good terms, but…

Oh, fuck it, who was she kidding. She still loved Amy. Probably even more than she had when she left. Reagan knew - all too well - that Amy was the only reason she was back in Austin, even if she wasn't ready to say it out loud.

Of course, hearing about Amy and Karma's pool kiss might have had a little something to do with that.

Reagan wasn't surprised. It wasn't like she'd expected Amy to sit around waiting for her. Hoped for it, maybe, but definitely not expected.

Still, a part of her had broken a little when Lauren had told her about the kiss. A part that had clung to that one last little bit of hope, that one last shred of wishful thinking that her Shrimp Girl was still… hers.

But that look in Amy's eyes…. that told Reagan all she needed to know.

Or, at least, she thought it did.

"You look sad," she said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them since they sat down on her couch. "It's Karma, isn't it?"

Amy nodded, slowly. "Yeah," she said. "Sort of."

Reagan had never known there to be anything 'sort of' when it came to Amy and Karma.

"Sort of?" she asked.

Amy nodded again and Reagan thought - though it couldn't be - that the blonde slid slightly closer to her.

"I know Lauren told you about the kiss,"Amy said. "And I know how that seems…"

"It seems," Reagan said, "like maybe you're finally getting what you've always wanted."

"Like I said," Amy replied. "I know how it seems. And it seemed that way to me too. I mean, kissing Karma again… and having her actually be into it…"

There was a part of Reagan, one that was growing bigger by the second, that really wished she'd never set foot back in Austin.

Amy rolled on. "I thought," she said, "that it was what I wanted. I thought I knew what it all meant. It was so clear - I'm starting to have feelings for her again."

That part? Reagan was pretty sure it was all of her now. Every last fucking bit.

"But then…"

And this time, Reagan was sure she wasn't imagining it. Amy was moving closer.

"But then," Amy said, as she reached out and took Reagan's hand, "When Karma's lips touched mine… all I could think was that they weren't yours. They didn't feel the same or taste the same and they didn't make me…."

Reagan found herself clutching Amy's hand, even though she had no idea when that had happened.

"They didn't make you what?" she asked. She knew, Reagan fucking knew, but she had to hear Amy say it.

"They didn't make me love her," Amy said. "They didn't make me feel anything except cold and wet and… lost."

Amy slid closer still, until she was practically in Reagan's lap.

"That's how I've felt every minute since you've been gone," she said. "I know there's issue and I know we have things to work out and I know how different we are."

Reagan couldn't breathe. She wouldn't breathe. She was too afraid to ruin the moment.

"I know how it seemed," Amy said. "But appearances… they're not always reality, you know?"

Reagan nodded. She was realizing that more and more with every second.

"And the reality," Amy said, "is that I love you. You. Not Karma. And if you'll take me back, I swear Reagan, I'll -"

Amy never finished her sentence. Reagan's lips were in the way.

And they were hers. And they felt just as Amy remembered them. Tasted just as she remembered them.

And this time? They both knew.

There was no way they'd ever part again.


	2. Easier

_**Easier**_

_**(based on the scene of Amy kissing Felix at what looks to be the prom)**_

So… yeah.

Prom's going well, Amy thinks.

Just fucking great. Swell even.

She should have seen this coming, really. She should have known from the moment she realized what Karma intended - that they'd go together - that this couldn't really have ended up any other way.

How had Lauren described it?

Like a bomb. That was it. She'd said the whole thing was like a bomb just waiting to go off.

A nuclear prom.

Amy leans against the wall and tugs at her suit jacket. It doesn't fit, not the way it's supposed to, and doesn't that just about sum up her whole fucking life?

Too tight. Too small. Too narrow.

Too everything.

She listens to the music coming from inside the gym and closes her eyes. She doesn't want to think, doesn't want to imagine.

But she can't help it.

She's tried so hard all night. Tried so hard not to look at the DJ, to not let her mind wander.

To not think of Reagan.

To not think how just a few months ago she had this all planned out. To not think about how it was supposed to be.

Karma and Liam. Her and Reagan. Shane and… well… whatever flavor of the month Shane had fallen for this week.

Even Lauren and Theo or Anthony or whatever the fuck name he was going by this week.

It would've been great.

It would've been perfect.

And then they broke up. And then Reagan just… left.

And Karma? She stayed.

And Amy's not entirely sure she doesn't wish it was the other way around.

Amy remembers the exact moment she realized Karma was planning for them to go to prom together. She remembers the sinking feeling in her stomach. She remembers the way her hands shook and her heart raced and she felt like throwing up.

It would've been easy, she knows. It would have been the easiest thing in the world.

Well… second easiest.

The _easiest_ was what she did. Go to prom with a boy.

Amy knows Felix is leaning against the opposite wall, just watching her.

He's been sweet, so very sweet. He held her hand and didn't care if she didn't wear a dress and posed for pictures and made her mother smile.

He's the perfect boy, really. The perfect boy for _her_.

Felix is sarcastic. And snarky. He hates all this conventional shit as much as she does. He'd have been happier staying home and watching an obscure documentary - _any_ obscure documentary - with her.

_With her_.

And there it is, she thinks. There's that one thing that puts him over the top. The one thing that separates him from Karma and even from Reagan.

He wants her. _Her_. Not the perfect best friend on a leash, do whatever I want, and be at my beck and call that Karma wants. Not the out and proud and got it all together with no confusion at all lesbian that Reagan _needs_.

Just her.

Amy remembers what Karma said once about how much she wished she could feel what Amy felt. About how much she wanted to be able to love Amy the way Amy wanted to be loved.

She never really got that. Not until now.

It would be easier. So much easier. If she could just feel for Felix what he feels for her. If this pseudo-dating thing they've been doing since she and Reagan broke-up could be less pseudo.

Amy would kill for easier.

She really would.

It would mean she could heal the pain in her heart from watching Reagan walk away.

It would mean she could avoid falling into the 'I've been in love with you all my life' rabbit hole she finds herself teetering on the edge of every time Karma is near.

Easier would be… easier.

She glances across the hall at Felix, just standing there waiting. He's not pushing her to be something she's not ready for. He's not expecting her to be there whenever he needs.

Felix would stand there all night if that's what she needed.

It only takes two steps for Amy to cross the hall and bring her hands up to cradle Felix's cheeks. Two steps for her to press her lips to his and kiss him.

Two steps and a silent prayer. Please, she thinks. Please just let me feel something. Let me feel something.

She does. Amy feels Felix's hands find her hips. She feels his lips move against hers. She swears she can feel his heart racing in his chest.

Amy would kill for easier.

But in that moment? Kissing the perfect guy in the middle of the perfect prom on what should be the most perfect night of her life?

Amy knows.

She'd kill for easier.

But giving in? And accepting easier? When it makes her feel nothing?

That might just kill _her. _


	3. Secrets

_**A/N: Based on the scene from the trailer where Amy and Karma snap at each other about secrets. Also on a request sent to me by an anon on Tumblr. **_

This was starting to piss Karma off.

She was trying. Really she was. She was doing everything she could to make things better with Amy.

But those words kept running through her head.

_You slept with Liam_.

She'd been mad. It was Amy's fault they'd gotten detention - and with fucking Liam of all people - and then… then _she'd_ had the gall to say Karma was one to talk about keeping secrets.

So, yeah, maybe she had a guy living in her bedroom. And maybe she'd told Amy that guy was gay. And maybe she'd embellished the story a little.

But really? Did that compare to fucking your best friend's boyfriend?

(And, if Karma consistently ignored the fact that Liam hadn't been her boyfriend when he and Amy slept together or, really, _any time_ before Amy put them together? Well, she could be forgiven for that. She was the wronged party here, right?)

(Right.)

And so Karma could be forgiven if the moment Amy had snapped at her about secrets - and that had been a conversation between her and _Liam_, for fuck's sake - she'd gone right for the kill.

_You slept with Liam_.

Yeah, this fixing-things-thing was going to be a bit more difficult than she thought.

Especially if Amy wouldn't get off her fucking phone for more than two fucking minutes.

At some point in the last week, Karma swears Amy must have had the damn thing surgically bonded to her hand. And she doesn't get it, not even a little.

Amy's never been this attached to her phone. Sure, she has music on it (and Amy does love her music). And yeah, there's the Netflix app, and Amy does occasionally venture onto Facebook.

But this? This is something altogether different.

This is Amy staring at her phone through classes.

(Hence, the detention.)

This is Amy almost walking into the entire cheerleading squad at lunch because her eyes are glued to the screen.

(And then not even making a snarky comment about said cheerleaders.)

This is Amy nodding along blankly at everything Karma says.

(And when what Karma says is 'I think I'm going to let Liam fuck me in the middle of the quad, but I'm not sure if I should let Shane record it' and Amy's only response is 'You totally should', that might be the last fucking straw.)

This… _this _is unacceptable.

Because this is just fucking wrong. In the history of their friendship - at least the portions of it when they've both had cellphones - Amy has never been so attentive to the damn phone and so inattentive to everything else.

(And yes, Karma knows that by 'everything else' she totally means _her_.)

Hell, Karma's pretty sure the only people Amy has ever even texted are her and Shane. It's not like there's someone else she could be messaging. It's not like there's…

Reagan.

And it hits Karma like a fucking thunderbolt.

Reagan's been gone a week. Some DJ thing out of state. Some big opportunity. Some big break that could really take her places.

Places she wants Amy to go with her.

Places Karma can't imagine Amy going.

(And, in her more self-aware moments - and let's face it, how many of _those_ are there, really? - Karma can admit that she can't imagine Amy going because she knows those places are places she can't follow.)

(And why would Amy want to go places like that?)

So, Reagan's been gone a week which, come to think of it, coincides nicely with the time Amy suddenly grew a phone out of her hand.

And, if in that moment, Karma wants - _needs_ \- to see that phone? If she wants - _needs_ \- to know what Reagan's saying? If she wants -

Fuck it. Fuck _want_.

She _needs_ to know. She needs to see. Because, once upon a time, Karma couldn't imagine that anything would ever come between her and Amy.

Because, once upon a time, Karma couldn't imagine those words would ever leave her mouth.

_You slept with Liam_.

She's doing her best, she really is, to get over that.

And Karma will be damned - seriously _fucking_ damned - if she's going to get over _that_ only to have _her_ get in the way.

So Karma can totally be forgiven for spilling her drink on Amy at lunch. Totally forgiven for stammering fake apologies (she's so sorry not sorry) and offering to take Amy's books and bag and phone to her next class while Amy goes off to try and clean herself up.

She's doing her best. Really she is.

* * *

It takes Karma about three minutes to regret stealing Amy's phone.

Which, given that it only took her about fifteen seconds to get it unlocked and find the first of the messages from Reagan, means it only took about two and a half minutes longer than it should.

But, given the contents of that first message, it's understandable.

(If, by understandable, you mean totally _not _fucking understandable.)

The moment that first message loads, Karma has to lean back against the closest locker, lest she fall over.

Once upon a time, she couldn't have imagined anything coming between her and Amy. She couldn't have imagined ever hearing herself say those words - _you slept with Liam_ \- to her best friend.

Once upon a time - oh, screw that, once upon _every _time - Karma couldn't have imagined staring down at her best friend's phone and finding herself staring down at her best friend's girlfriend's naked body.

(Of course, once upon all those times, Karma never would have imagined the phrase 'her best friend's girlfriend' ever crossing her mind either.)

She's seen Amy and Reagan kiss. She's seen them hold hands. She's seen Reagan tug Amy down onto her lap and run a hand up under the back of her shirt.

Logically, Karma knows that Amy and Reagan's relationship isn't some chaste thing that never goes past hand holding and a few tongue-less kisses.

(She _knows_ that.)

Knowing it, and being struck across the face with visual proof of it - because even Karma isn't oblivious enough to think Reagan is sending nude selfies to someone she _isn't_ fucking - well, those are two different things.

(And the shock of it is a completely logical explanation for why Karma doesn't immediately close the message. For why she stands there, dumbfounded, staring at Reagan's nude body.)

(And shock could probably be a decent explanation for the way Karma's eyes roam across Reagan's skin, over the curve of her hips and up across the flat of her stomach and the perfect round swell of her breasts.)

(Shock. That's it.)

And, three minutes after unlocking Amy's phone and loading that first message, it's shock - it _has_ to be - that makes Karma scroll to the next message and the next and the one after that.

More and more and more Reagan. Naked Reagan. Posing Reagan.

'Let me show you how I get myself off so you can do it to me later' Reagan.

It's shock - or at least that's what Karma will claim until her dying day - that causes her fingers to ghost across the screen, to tap on the few buttons and icons to bring her to Amy's gallery.

And it's shock that, four minutes after she unlocked the phone and opened that first message, causes Karma to gasp out a strangled 'Fuck' and drop Amy's phone on the ground.

The screen, locked forever more as the phone cracks on the concrete, showing a shot of the most perfect naked form Karma has ever seen.

And it's _not _Reagan.

At least, it's not _just_ Reagan.

* * *

There's no way Karma can explain this. No way she can spin it, no way she can deflect the blame.

Even '_you slept with Liam'_ won't help her now.

Karma watches Amy's face carefully as she takes the phone. The screen is cracked, the brightness nearly gone.

But, Karma's pretty sure, Amy doesn't really need the screen to be well lit, or even in one piece, to recognize the image forever burned into it.

(And, Karma knows, the screen isn't the only place that image has been _burned_ into forever.)

Amy's face betrays no reaction at all as she stares down at the phone. And that scares the living hell out of Karma.

She's known Amy for more than a decade. Once upon a time, Karma would have recognized every single look that might have crossed Amy's face. She could have predicted every reaction the blonde might ever have.

(It's that legendary obliviousness that's probably kept Karma from recognizing - until right now - that Amy stopped being predictable right around the time she said 'let's be lesbians'.)

"Amy," Karma starts and then stops because, really, what do you say?

What do you say to someone when you just arranged a scenario to steal their phone, stole said phone, and rifled through said phone.

And (as if that wasn't enough) saw pictures of that someone and that someone's significant other.

Naked.

Touching each other.

A look on Amy's face that Karma - or anyone else - would have recognized immediately.

Karma never really got the phrase 'O-face'.

Then she saw the look on Amy's face, saw the way her lips curved into that oh so obvious expression.

She gets it now.

She _so fucking _ gets it now.

Amy looks up at her from the screen and her expression - even to Karma - is still unreadable.

"Amy, I didn't…"

Karma trails off because she has no earthly idea how to finish that sentence. She didn't, what?

Mean to steal the phone?

Mean to invade her best friend's privacy?

Mean to see… _that_?

(Of course she didn't mean to see that.)

(But even Karma knows herself well enough to know.)

(If she'd known that was what she was going to find? If she'd known she would be confronted with the visual evidence of her best friend's sexuality and the way she expresses that sexuality?)

(She'd have still taken the phone.)

(She just wouldn't have dropped it.)

Amy walks toward her and Karma is sure she's about to get slapped or yelled at or told what a horrible little self-involved bitch she is.

(And even Karma thinks she might deserve it. Maybe a little.)

(Even if Amy _did_ sleep with Liam.)

But Amy never raises a hand, never raises her voice, not even as she stops right in front of Karma and hands her the broken phone.

"I'd ask for naked pics of Liam to even the score," Amy says. "But I've seen it all already."

Karma blanches and the phone nearly slips from her fingers.

"I guess," Amy says, "I could ask for some pictures of you two together."

Karma opens her mouth to say something, but she can't find the words or even the air to breathe.

A smile - one Karma's never seen before (and honestly hopes to never see again) crosses Amy's face.

"Besides," Amy says. "If my experience with him is any indication…" She taps the dim frozen screen. "You've never made _that_ face before."

Amy pats Karma comfortingly on the shoulder as she walks away. And Karma stands there, frozen, the busted phone nothing but dead weight in her hand.

Maybe, Karma thinks, there's something to keeping secrets after all.


	4. Karma's Kiss

_**A/N: I have no idea how this happened. None. I got asked to write a 'Scenes' about the Karmy pool kiss. And this is what happened. I think some people may hate me. Or hate me more, depending. I don't even know if I like it. Anyway...**_

Later, when she thinks of it - and for a while right after, it's _all_ she can think of - Amy realizes quite clearly that it was a long time coming.

Sometimes she even wonders how it took so long.

And then she remembers sleeping with Liam and the guilt that followed and well, that question answers itself.

But then she can't help wondering.

If she and Liam had never slept together, if she'd never hurt Karma like that, if she'd never done that one incredibly stupid thing (on the heels of so many other almost as incredibly stupid things)...

Amy can't help wondering.

Would they have ever even ended up at that party? Would they have ended up in the pool?

Would they have kissed?

She doesn't think so.

And later, when she thinks of it - and it really is _all_ she can think of - Amy's quite sure of only one thing.

That kiss?

It's the only reason she's ever been grateful for ever touching Liam Booker.

* * *

The water is fucking cold and it hits Amy like a slap in the face, which makes it about par for the fucking course tonight.

Watching Karma do body shots with random guys?

Slap one.

Watching Karma grind on some even more random girl on the dance floor?

Slap two.

Amy surfaces, sputtering and splashing and frantically swiping wet hair out of her face.

Slap three.

She's pissed. And everyone knows it.

Which might explain why they're all backing away, slowly drifting from the side of the pool, clearing a path.

They're leaving Amy only one place to focus, only one face to see.

Amy blinks the water out of her eyes, letting her glare settle on her best friend, the person who's driven her crazy all night long.

Karma.

All night long?

Try months. Try years.

Try a fucking lifetime.

And then there's that grin. That goofy fucking lopsided 'who me?' smile.

Amy knows _that _grin.

She's lived with it for as long as she can remember. For as long as Karma's been having dumbass ideas and dragging her into them. For as long as Karma's been capable of finding more new and unique ways to piss her off than anyone else Amy knows.

In her head, where Karma can't hear, Amy refers to it as Karma's 'Amy' face. The one Karma breaks out when she knows she's fucked up.

Like the day she suggested the threesome.

Or the day _after_ the threesome.

Or when she called Amy a sex addict to the whole school.

Or when she 'accidentally' told Reagan about Amy and Liam.

(And yeah, Amy still thinks of 'accidentally' in quotes, no matter how many times Karma's sworn she didn't mean it.)

That grin? It's the Ashcroft version of puppy eyes. It's Karma's oldest weapon of last resort and the only one she has that can break Amy every time.

(And, sometimes, in her head? Amy is secretly glad Karma's never quite realized how many other weapons she really has in her arsenal. How many other ways she could break Amy.)

(Legs.)

(Ass.)

(Breasts.) (Lips.) (Fingers.)

Amy _hates _that grin.

But sometimes?

Sometimes she's really fucking grateful for it. Sometimes she's really grateful Karma knows she can fall back on it, so she doesn't think any further.

Sometimes though isn't now. Because now? Right fucking now?

That grin is fading.

Because Amy's glare _isn't_.

And right now? Karma's suddenly got worry lines creasing her forehead. She's suddenly looking down at the ground and the water and the-anywhere-but-Amy.

Because as well as Amy knows that grin?

Karma knows that _look_.

The one that tells her, in words Amy can never quite bring herself to say, that Karma has crossed a line.

It's Amy's 'no' look.

No. No. No.

No more.

* * *

Later, when she thinks of it

(so fucking often, still)(but it's fading, slowly)(a little bit everyday)

Amy remembers her confidence.

Or lack thereof.

She was always far from the most confident crayon in the box.

She doubted her looks, her sex appeal, her ability to converse with most people.

(Though that last one? That wasn't on her. That was on people.)

(Stupid people.)

But _that_ is one thing Amy knew she wasn't. Stupid.

When it came to most things, Amy knew she was anything _but_ stupid.

She got the highest grades of any of her friends.

(Except, she thinks, maybe Lauren. But then Amy's not quite sure they were _friends_ just yet.)

(Or, if they were, if either of them would have admitted it.)

There was a stack of college brochures and applications on her desk. And all of them - even her safety schools - were good. Maybe not Ivy League (because, among the other things Amy knows about herself, she knows she's not that pretentious), but _good_.

(And maybe she couldn't look at even a single one of them for a while after Reagan left.)

(But that passed.) (Amy knew it would.)

(See? Smart.)

She's spent a lifetime pointing out the obvious logistical flaws in most of Karma's plans.

(_I don't even like looking at my own vagina.)_

Yup. Amy's smart.

Except…

Yeah. She knows. Amy is well fucking aware.

She was smart.

Except when it came to Karma.

Amy knows that when it came to her best friend / fake girlfriend / fake ex-girlfriend / fake girlfriend again (and thank you oh so fucking much for that totally _not_ needed trip down memory lane, Mrs. Ashcroft and PFLAG), she was...

How to put this nicely?

Fucking dumb.

_So_ fucking dumb.

Which is why, later? When she thinks about it?

(A little bit less often, all the time)(Almost not at all, some days, when there's mail waiting for her)

Amy's kind of proud of herself.

Maybe. Just a little.

* * *

She should have seen it coming, Amy thinks.

Karma totally should have seen the hands against her back. Should have seen the arms extending and pushing and driving her right into the water, just a few feet from Amy.

Karma should have seen it coming. Especially with Lauren right behind her.

Amy tries her best to ignore the self-satisfied smirk as it crosses her step-sister's face and focuses instead on Karma.

Karma, who's sputtering and flailing and floundering around like she's caught in a riptide instead of the barely ten foot deep end of Ana Rosen's pool.

Amy wants to help her. Wants to calm her.

Kind of.

Maybe.

A little.

OK. Not really. Not at all. Not even a little.

Amy thinks, quite definitively, that she's had enough of trying to help Karma for one night.

_Yes, Amy. It's a shot. No, Amy, it's not my first. God. When did you get so uptight? It's a party._

She's had enough of following Karma around all night.

(In a totally 'have to protect her from herself' way and _not_ in the creepy stalkerish obsessive way Liam's been doing it.)

_This is what we're supposed to do, Amy. Loosen up. Get crazy. Meet new people. Hook up._

Amy's had just about enough of being the witness to Karma's party girl devolution.

_They're just nipples, people!_

Yeah, Amy's had just about enough of trying to be the voice of reason. Just about enough of trying to keep Karma from doing something she'll regret.

_Fuck, Amy. What is your problem? Oh, I get it. _You're _the only one allowed to get drunk and do something stupid, is that it?_

_Maybe you should have a couple more drinks. And then you can find Liam. Or Felix. Or whoever's got your sexual hulk feeling all green tonight. _

_Just stay away from me._

Yeah. Amy's had just about enough.

* * *

Later, when she thinks of it

(and realizes, as she's thumbtacking another postcard to the bulletin board over her desk - this one from Iowa - it's been a while since she's thought of it)

Amy _also _realizes that it was a long time coming, but she's never sure exactly when it started. She can't pinpoint the one exact moment when the tide began to turn.

It was sometime in the months she spent walking on eggshells around Karma. All that time spent in fear that the spectre of 'Liamgate' might yet again rear it's ugly head.

All that time waiting for Karma to say it, waiting for her to remind Amy of what she'd done, of how Amy had hurt her, of how Amy had shattered the trust between them.

Like when Amy tried to 'seduce' Felix. And Karma accused her of going after _every_ man in her life

Or when Amy blew up at her for 'accidentally' spilling the beans to Reagan. And Karma reminded Amy whose fault it was there were beans to be spilled in the first place.

Or when Karma saw her and Liam talking. Even if said talking was just the briefest of 'excuse me's' as they tried to navigate an overcrowded hallway.

Karma _didn't _talk to her for two days.

So, yeah, it was a little hard for Amy to figure out exactly when the guilt had stopped and this… feeling… had started.

She couldn't even name it.

Anger? Resentment? Frustration?

She couldn't nail it down. She couldn't pigeonhole it.

But just because she couldn't name it?

That didn't mean it wasn't there.

* * *

Amy's treading water and trying her best - trying so _fucking_ hard - to keep glaring at Karma.

To not back up. To not give an inch. To not let that grin work it's magic.

But Karma's found her 'sea legs' in the pool. And she's giving Amy that fucking grin again and drifting closer and closer.

Amy knows Karma's her blind spot. Her Achilles's heel. Her Kryptonite.

Karma knows it too.

Fuck, Amy thinks. _Everyone _knows it.

But Amy thought she was through with this. She thought she'd gotten better.

When Reagan was here, it was so easy.

Shane always said the easiest way to get over someone was to get under someone else.

As Amy had fallen more and more in love with Reagan, she'd found out that Shane wasn't exactly wrong.

But then Reagan left.

(_I think Karma's right, Shrimps. I don't think this is going to work.)_

And Amy fell back into old habits. Started pining. Started hoping, yet again, that Karma would wake up and realize.

It was Princess Sarcasm she wanted all along.

Amy was falling and Reagan wasn't there to catch her.

So she had no choice, really.

Reagan wasn't there to catch her. And Amy wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- go down that road again.

So Amy caught herself.

She fought it. She pushed it aside. She convinced herself that it was nothing but proximity. It was nothing but taking the easiest option.

Loving Karma was never hard.

Forgetting her - forgetting her like _that_ \- was something different.

But Amy was doing it. She was getting better.

But then Karma started acting crazy. Started hooking up with Liam, but not actually dating him. Started letting guys get closer than they should.

She damn near had a fucking threesome.

With _Shane_.

And all Amy could do was watch. All she could do was stand by and see her best friend slowly unravelling.

She couldn't help Karma. Not really.

Not if she wanted to help herself.

And tonight had just proven that. Tonight, when Amy had finally stopped shoving it aside and tried to be Karma's friend…

And gotten dumped in the pool for it.

The cold water was a slap in the face. A slap that reminded Amy of why she was pushing away, why she was trying so hard to ignore it.

And then Karma lands in the pool.

And starts drifting.

And Amy sees her. And that grin. And her hair slicked back against her scalp and the flush of her cheeks even in the cold fucking water.

And Amy knows.

She 's been deluding herself. She's no better. She's _never_ going to be better.

Superman doesn't get over Kryptonite.

And as Karma's arms snake around her neck and pull Amy into a hug, Amy's resolve dissolves.

Karma's done it again. She's found a way to remind Amy that - above all else - she _needs_ Karma.

And as Karma tilts back from the hug and Amy is about to say something appropriately self-deprecating

(She knows how this scene plays out. They've done it before.)

that's when Karma's lips find hers.

* * *

Much, much later, when she thinks about it,

(and now it only comes late at night, when she's alone, when Jess is out of the room and Amy's doing nothing but staring at the the little old school mailed landscapes of Americana crisscrossing her bulletin board)

Amy thinks that, maybe, it was the college 'thing'.

(That was how Karma referred to it, afterward. The college 'thing'. Like it was no big deal. Like it hadn't been any more than a 'thing'. Like it hadn't been all her doing.)

(Like it hadn't been the beginning of the end of Amy and Reagan.)

(The college _thing_.)

Maybe, Amy considers, it was the collision.

Karma's perfect dream she'd cooked up for them, unchanged since they were eleven.

The same school. The same dorm. The same room.

The same _fucking_ life.

Karma's plans had crashed headlong into Reagan's less… traditional… vision.

_I didn't go to college. I might, someday. But I'm making it work, you know._

_I'm doing what I love and loving what I do. What more could college do for me?_

It might have been, Amy knows, _that_ night.

Amy and Reagan coming home late from a club. Amy being forced to sneak into her own room.

Both of them falling through the window, tumbling onto the floor, the reek of cigarettes and cheap beer and sweat all over them.

And Karma on the bed. Waiting.

She'd heard from a friend of a friend

(Liam from Shane)

that Amy was considering - _considering_ \- options other than college.

Like travelling with Reagan.

Like getting a job. Moving out on her own.

_This isn't you, Amy. You've been dreaming of this since we were six._

Amy didn't, at the time, point out to Karma that dreams change.

She simply slid her hand into Reagan's and bit her tongue.

_And so what? Now you're just going to give up on college? Why? Because Reagan asked you to?_

Amy didn't, at the time, mention that Reagan had done no such thing. That she didn't know, for sure, that Reagan would even take her along.

Amy didn't, at the time, mention that not only was she _not_ giving up on college, she'd actually applied for early admission.

Instead, she simply turned her back to Karma and started getting ready for bed.

And didn't say a word.

_You're sixteen, Amy. Sixteen. And maybe in Reagan's world no college is a good thing. But you're not from that world. _

Amy didn't try to explain that she didn't really know what the fuck world she was from.

That she hadn't known since the moment she'd kissed Karma. Since the moment the world - as she'd always known it - fell out from beneath her feet.

_You're not about cigarettes and late nights and partying with people you barely know._

_Maybe it's time you remembered who you are._

Amy didn't move, didn't speak, didn't so much as lift a finger to keep Karma from going.

And when Karma was gone, Amy tugged Reagan to her and steered her down onto the bed and forgot - for a few hours and a few more orgasms - every word Karma had said.

But, later, when Amy thinks about it? Especially when she opens her mailbox to find it empty and her day dims just a little bit?

She knows _she _forgot.

But Reagan didn't.

* * *

The cold water was a slap in face.

The kiss is a punch in the gut.

Amy pulls back, her eyes wide and her mind swimming.

Karma is staring back at her and for the first time she can remember, Amy can't read her best friend's face.

_Woah_

Amy hears that word - that one fucking _syllable_ \- and she knows. It's her cue. Time for her line. Time for her half of the song and dance.

She spots Liam over Karma's shoulder, staring at them. She can't read his expression either, but she doesn't have to, not really.

Amy knows - _understands_ \- how Liam feels well enough to know what his face isn't showing.

He's broken.

This? _This_ is the sum of all his fears. Karma kissing Amy is _it_. The moment he's always known was coming, the one he knew he'd never escape.

It's funny, Amy thinks.

It's funny how she thinks of this moment _exactly_ the way he does.

She knows her line. It's a simple combination.

_Woah. I know._

"No."

Karma's eyes narrow slightly.

"No. No. No."

Karma reaches out a hand, unsure, confused, but this is still Amy, right?

Amy scoots back in the water, keeping the distance between her and Karma.

"No," Amy says, shaking her head, the ends of her hair slapping against the surface of the water.

"No more."

And then she's gone. Out of the water. Pushing past Liam and Lauren and not even looking at Shane as she tears off, knowing full well Karma's already on her heels.

Knowing full well she can't hold it down anymore.

* * *

It's not until _so _much later

(when she's driving, the top down on the convertible Jess let her borrow, the last postcard, the one from the Alamo with nothing but a date and a time on the back, tucked away safely in her pocket)

that Amy lets herself remember the words she never thought she'd hear Reagan say.

_I think Karma's right._

It didn't happen all at once, Amy knows that. It wasn't that night when Karma was waiting in her room. It wasn't the day after or the day after that.

It wasn't at Reagan's DJ gig when Amy's fake ID didn't work.

It wasn't at Reagan's cousin's house party, when Amy tried pot for the first time and got sick.

It wasn't at Shane's birthday party when Felix got drunk and tried to dance with her and made a total scene.

It wasn't at any of those.

It was all of those. And every other little thing Reagan saw. Every other little thing that made her wonder, that made her question.

Amy knew Reagan was worried. Knew something was bugging her, digging at her, eating away at her.

So she hugged her. And kissed her. And told her she loved her.

And it was all OK.

Right up until it wasn't.

_I think Karma's right, Shrimps. I don't think this is going to work._

Amy heard it all, every word. But it was all underwater, gurgles and burbles and washed away against the rushing cacophony in her ears.

_We're too different._

_You're young. You've got so much to figure out._

_You've wanted college._

_I can't let you throw something away. Not for me._

Amy wanted to believe Reagan meant college.

She was terrified Reagan meant Karma.

And then Reagan left. Started traveling. Moving from one spot to the next. She sent Amy postcards.

And Amy cried on Karma's shoulder.

And later - much, much later - when Amy thinks of it,

(as she steers into the parking lot of the Alamo - _Remember the Alamo! - _and raises a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she scans the lot)

she manages not to get mad at the smile she saw flicker across Karma's face when she held Amy in her arms after the break up.

Karma was just happy to have her best friend back. She was just happy Amy was letting her be there for her, like she'd always been.

That was what it was. Amy was _sure_ of it.

Karma was just happy to help.

Right.

And when she looks back on it, Amy knows _that_ was it. Because she felt it then, felt it welling up inside her, straining and aching and fighting to come out.

But there was too much else in the way.

Too many tears about Reagan. Too much sadness over losing the first she'd ever loved.

At least the first one who had ever loved her back.

So, Amy remembers, she let it sink back down. She let it get swallowed back up. She pretended it wasn't there and fell asleep in Karma's arms.

And it waited. For the right time.

For a warm summer night. A cold pool. And a drunken kiss.

* * *

Amy knows Karma's behind her. She knows she can't outrun her.

For a drunk girl who's avoided participating in PE since sixth grade, Karma is deceptively fast.

Outrunning her isn't an option. Hiding isn't an option.

(Karma would just wander around yelling for her, over and over and over, until someone ratted her out.)

There are, as Amy sees it, only two options.

Go back. Listen to Karma's apology (because there will be one, because no way did Karma _mean_ that kiss). Return to the status quo.

And the thought of that?

It makes Amy's stomach roll.

And as Karma's hand catches her arm and turns her, Amy knows.

She doesn't really have any options.

It's coming out. Good or bad, she can't hold it in anymore.

* * *

It's not until she steps from the car, closing the door gently behind her, that Amy thinks of it again.

_Don't touch me, Karma._

It's not until she leans up against the hood, eyes staring off into the distance that she remembers, for the first time in oh, so long.

_You can't - you don't _get _\- to do this. You want to make out with guys you've never met or dry hump some girl and call it dancing?_

It isn't until she pulls the postcard from her pocket and checks the time scribbled on the back - 1:30 pm - and glances at her watch

(1:25 pm. If you're not five minutes early, you're late)

that Amy thinks about that night again.

_You can do whatever you want. But not with me. Not again. No more. No more, Karma._

It's not until she sees the other car pulling up - fifty, sixty feet away - that Amy remembers the way it all rushed out of her.

_I got into UT-Austin. I'm taking classes on campus next semester. And I think it's… best… to make it a clean break._

It isn't until she feels her heart rise up in her chest and her breath hitch as the figure emerges from the other car

(And how many times has she imagined this moment?)

that she remembers those last words.

_I can't do this anymore, Karma. You have to find yourself and so do I._

_And we can't do that together._

It isn't until they tentatively wave at each other, the first time in person in so very long, that Amy even wonders.

How had she never seen it?

How did it take Jess pointing it out?

Put them in order, Jess said, pointing at the bulletin board. Put them in the order that you got them.

_Iowa. Laramie. Ottawa. Vancouver. Edmonton._

It wasn't until she hit the next card - from Yosemite - that Amy got it_. _

It isn't until she sees the figure start towards her that Amy lets herself think about the rest.

The letter. The one she mailed to the last address she had, praying it would find its way.

_I left Hester._

_I'm in school. UT-Austin. _

_I have a roommate. Her name is Jess. She's great. You'd like her._

Amy stands, pushing off the hood, and starts walking.

It isn't until she sees the figure - fuck it - it isn't until she sees _her_ start to run that Amy realizes she's running too.

_There's a bulletin board - one of those cork board jobs - over my desk._

_It's kinda empty. I could use something to fill it._

_Postcards. I think postcards would look nice._

It isn't until she's halfway across the lot - halfway to _her_ \- that Amy realizes she's crying.

_And if you ever get tired of moving, if you ever get tired of being out there, on your own._

_Just name the time. Name the place._

_I'll be there._

_I love you. Still. Always._

**I**owa.

**L**aramie.

**O**ttawa.

**V**ancouver.

**E**dmonton.

**Y**osemite.

**O**ntario.

**U**tah.

It isn't until later, much, much later

(After feverish kisses in the Alamo parking lot.)(After more feverish kisses in Reagan's hotel room.)

(After a month together when they come home to Austin and Farrah and Lauren practically tackle Reagan in the driveway.)

(After a month and a week together. After they have dinner with Karma and her girlfriend, Jill, and the night doesn't end in disaster.)

(After a month and a week and two days together. After Karma and Reagan go out together and get drunk and Karma confesses it was her kiss. That was what did it.)

_That was what drove Amy right back to you_.

It isn't until then - after Amy nods and laughs and agrees - that Amy knows.

It _was_ a long time coming.

But it's alright now.


	5. Prove It

_**Because someone asked. And my motivation to work on JFM or Bartender isn't exactly great (damn hiatus). Based on the new trailer and the 'prove it' scene. More than a little smutty. **_

You came back to fix it. You came back to help.

It was, after all, your fault.

Although you would protest that that's a little unfair. How were you supposed to know Reagan was outside the window? How were you supposed to know she'd hear you tell Amy that she had to be truthful about the Liam 'incident' and her'sexual hulk' confusion?

If this is anyone's fault, it's Amy's. She's the one who kept a secret

(again)

and she's the one who thought something everyone

(Amy. You. Lauren. Liam. Shane.)

all knew would never, ever, even accidentally

(and it was an accident)

come out.

Yeah. This is all Amy's fault. You've got nothing to feel bad about.

And maybe, when you actually believe that perfectly logical and surprisingly fair assessment of things, you'll stop feeling guilty. And the sight of Reagan's truck outside Amy's house, the realization that, since you hadn't passed her coming in as you were going out, she must have used the window and so she probably heard it all won't bother you even a little bit.

Yeah.

And someday, maybe, you and Shane will have a threeway with another guy and it won't be awkward or weird or fucking insane at all.

You'd give those both about an even shot at happening.

Fuck.

You don't mean to do these things. Really you don't. It's not like you wake up in the morning and think to yourself, _Karma, what can you do to totally fuck up Amy's life today_?. And it isn't like it was in the beginning when maybe - _maybe_ \- you would have, sort of, just a little, _liked_ hurting Reagan. It's not that way anymore. You're friends now, sort of, and you really don't want he to be hurt and you _really _don't want Amy to be hurt, but now it seems like one of those

(or both)

is inevitable. And, just like that night at Communal, you think you can help and this time, there's no Liam to try and stop you and - somehow - you doubt Amy's going to yell at you again and tell you she's got it all taken care of

(cause let's be real, if there's anything Amy _doesn't_ have taken care of, not even remotely, it's this)

and so you have to try, you have to be the best friend you always claim to be, you have to help Amy make Reagan understand.

And if that fails?

Well, Amy's going to need comforting, right?

For once,you manage to exercise just a little common sense and you don't go storming back in, barging into Amy's room and proclaiming to Reagan that she just has to understand

(even if you're not entirely sure even _Amy _really understands her sexuality at this point)

because, you realize, there's a chance that Reagan didn't hear anything. Maybe she doesn't know, maybe she and Amy are in there just chatting about their weekend plans, or exchanging fashion tips or scrolling through Amy's Netflix queue.

"How could you not tell me you're into guys?"

OK. Not fashion tips.

"Because I'm not sure I am."

Oh, Amy. Honesty is not _always_ the best policy.

You stand outside Amy's door, still cracked open slightly from when you left and you peer inside. There's no bloodshed yet and Amy doesn't seem to be crying, so that's something. She and Reagan are sitting on the edge of the bed, with Amy's back to the door so you can only see the older girl's face and Reagan looks somewhat less than convinced by Amy's words.

Not that you can blame her.

She stands, apparently giving in already, looking ready to bolt the same way she came in

(has she never heard of a door?)

but Amy grabs her wrist and pulls her back down to the bed and the fact that Reagan doesn't resist, doesn't put up anything close to a fight, gives you hope.

"I'm not sure," Amy says. "And I know I should have told you I wasn't sure. And I'm sorry I didn't, but you have to know, I am sure _this_," she waves a hand between her and Reagan. "I'm sure of you. Of us."

Reagan doesn't move, which is good. She's not leaving. But even you can tell that not leaving and _staying_ aren't exactly the same thing.

"I'm confused about a lot of things," Amy says

(and God, can she stop digging the hole deeper)

"But I'm sure of how I feel. I'm sure that.. " she reaches out and cups Reagan's cheek and realize where this is going and suddenly you feel _way_ out of place, like you're totally intruding on something that should be just between the two of them

(because you are)

but you don't make a single move, don't step even an inch away from the door

(of course you don't)

and then you and Reagan hear it - for the first time - together.

"I love you," Amy says.

You and Reagan might be friends of a sort now but that doesn't make you anything close to an expert on her so you can't really read her face at all

(though, as someone who has heard those words from Amy, you've got a decent idea what Reagan's feeling)

(even if, supposedly, you and she don't feel the same way about Amy)

(supposedly)

but then there's that smirk that settles on her face for just a moment before she quickly goes blank, but her eyes are on fire and - again - you feel so fucking out of place because you may not be a Reagan expert, but you know _that_ look.

"Prove it."

So, yeah, maybe it isn't 'I love you, too', but given what Reagan overheard and the confusion and fear that's probably still got churning in her gut, it's not that much of a shock that she might hold back a little. But those words are clear.

It's a challenge. Reagan's way of telling Amy that you know what? Actions speak a fuck load louder than words, especially when all the words have been doing lately is hiding some pretty hefty shit.

Prove it, Reagan says. It's a test, one Reagan is well within her rights to make Amy pass. Prove it, she says. Make me believe.

And maybe it's a test that will really take months - maybe years - for Amy to pass

(if she even can)

but there is something she can do right here, right now. She might not be able to convince Reagan but she can _show_ her. She can give her a reason - or two or three - to stay, to give her a chance, to let her have those months and maybe years.

So Amy kisses her. Hard. She practically dives into the older girl's lap as their lips crash together and you know - you _know_ \- that you should look away. At the very least.

You should look away, turn away, walk away.

Fucking run.

And yet… you don't You _can't_.

And yeah, you're not going to think about just why that is, just yet.

Instead, you're going to think about the way Amy's ass looks in those jeans, as she thrusts it up in the air as she presses Reagan back against the headboard.

And you're really not going to think about the little tremor of something

(not jealousy)

(definitely not)

that ripples through you at the sight of Reagan's hands coming to rest on that ass. Squeezing it, gripping it, pulling Amy even closer.

No, you're not thinking about _that_. You're going to think about how different this is. That's going to be your excuse, your reason for not leaving because you're too stunned to move, too shocked by how different this is. How different _she_ is.

You've seen them kiss before. Hell, anyone who spends more than five minutes with them sees that

(sometimes you wonder if Reagan's lips are like some sort of fucking sun with their own gravitational pull that just keeps dragging Amy's back in)

and sure, maybe seeing them kiss has always done a little something funny to you, made you feel some kinda way, but this… this isn't _that_.

You've seen them kiss good-bye when Reagan's dropped Amy off at your house. Just a quick peck as Amy leans back in through the driver's side window of Reagan's truck.

You've seen them kiss hello the couple of times Reagan's spun at clubs you and Amy could get into. A little more than the little peck

(Amy likes to mark her territory and scare off the little DJ groupies)

(and yes, those are apparently really a thing)

but still, nothing you couldn't see on a dozen TV shows every week.

You've even seen Amy kiss Reagan when she doesn't think anyone's watching, when it wasn't a hello or a good-bye or for any reason at all other than she wanted to. A kiss on the cheek, or a little one on the top of Reagan's head while they're snuggled and watching a movie.

You've seen that. All of that.

And this? This is so not fucking that.

This is Amy planting herself on Reagan's lap. This is Amy sucking on Reagan's bottom lip, tugging on it while her hands slide up Reagan's sides, under her shirt. This is Amy leaning back for a moment before moving back in and - quite fucking clearly running her tongue along Reagan's lips, waiting for her girlfriend to part them and let her in, but then, instead, she pulls back, the movement causing her hips to grind down against the older girl

(and the growl that comes out of Reagan might be the sexiest thing you've ever fucking heard and you're not even going to try and deny it)

and then Reagan's moving, chasing Amy, capturing her lips with her own, teeth grazing and their tongues are sliding against each other

(and fuck, when did Amy's house get so hot?)

as Amy swivels her hips in a way you didn't even know she could move, but you find yourself moving in time with her, your own hips swaying in the hall and really, you have no idea if this is proving anything to Reagan, but but if you ever had any doubts about whether Amy loved her or not

(and be honest, you did)

those doubts just evaporated. Because maybe you were too blind or oblivious

(or _chose_ to be)

to see that Amy was in love with you. But you _know_ Amy

(or you thought you did)

and no way, no how, no fucking chance Amy does this - _any_ of this - unless she's so far gone in love she can't see straight.

(No pun intended.)

Because this Amy? The one that's slowly

(so fucking slowly)

kissing her way down Reagan's neck? Her lips and her tongue and - if Reagan's short labored gasps and shuddering moans are any indication - teeth deliberately and painstakingly kissing and tasting and marking every bit of Reagan's exposed skin.

This Amy?

She's different.

She's more than different. This isn't a little tweak in the personality, this isn't a small shift in character. This is a fucking sea change, this is a girl - _woman_ \- you had no idea even fucking existed

(and if you were honest with yourself, this is a woman you're fucking glad as hell wasn't the one who confessed her love to you because you have no idea if you'd have been able to say no)

and you keep telling yourself that _this_ is why you're staying, why you're standing in the Raudenfeld-Cooper hallway, your hips grinding against the air and your breath short.

Because this Amy is different, this Amy is someone you don't know and you thought you knew every Amy, you thought you knew _all _of her.

(Except _obviously_, you know, _that_ part because, well, you're not _supposed _ to know that one)

(because you're just friends)

(because you love her)

(just not like that)

(because you're _straight_)

_So_ obviously straight. Because all the straight girls watch their sexually confused best friends fucking their incredibly hot lesbian girlfriends.

And yes, you know they aren't _exactly _fucking yet, but the 'yet' is the key word there. Because when Amy's hands push Reagan's top up, bunching it just beneath her breasts and then she slides down, blonde hair fanning out in every direction as she presses those lips against her girlfriend's abs

(and fuck, being a DJ must be a hell of a workout)

her tongue swirling around flicking in and out of Reagan's navel as the older girl's hands tangle in all that blonde, pressing Amy harder against her?

Yeah. They're gonna fuck.

And so you keep telling yourself that you can't look away because you love Amy - just not like that - and the thought that there would be even a little part of her that she doesn't share with you and that might belong to someone else

(and that fact that someone else might be Reagan, who you've really come to like but will always, at least a little, resent the fuck out of has _nothing_ to do with it)

well, that hurts.

And everyone knows how well you deal with hurt.

About as well, as it would seem, as you deal with watching Amy let Reagan steer her, let the older girl guide her head down, past those perfect

(and glistening) (don't forget glistening)

(like you'll _ever_ forget any of this)

abs, until Amy's even with the waistband of her jeans and then - oh, sweet Jesus - Amy looks back up at her.

"Prove it?"

Reagan nods and she hasn't even finished moving her head before Amy's popped the button on her jeans and slid the zipper down

(with her fucking teeth)

and hooked her fingers into Reagan's belt loops, using them to slowly work the jeans down, bit by fucking bit.

"You want me to prove it?" Amy asks as the jeans reach the bottom of Reagan's thighs and your view is good enough

(so fucking good)

that you can tell the burnette's not wearing underwear and you have to bite your lip not to moan.

Reagan nods again but Amy stops, the jeans still in her hands but not moving

(and why isn't she fucking moving?)

and she shakes her head.

"Say it," she says. "Tell me."

And fuck all you know you should go, you know you should take this break in the action to get the fuck out before you see something you can't unsee but you don't move even a little, other than your hand shaking on the doorknob.

(Shaking so much so that you have to pull it back - lest it shake the knob or accidentally push the door open or do something else that might alert them that you're here - because we can't have that)

(that would be embarrassing)

(that would be hard to explain)

(that would make them stop)

and you try, so very hard, to dismiss the way your heart is racing and the color you can feel flooding your cheeks

(ignoring any other possible floods)

and the way your thighs keep clenching together. And - most importantly - the tiny little chill

(_thrill_)

that runs up your spine every time they do.

"Say it," Amy repeats.

"Prove it," Reagan stammers out and you thank God she managed to say it

(another few seconds and you might have said it for her)

but that's not enough for Amy.

"How?" she asks, shimmying Reagan's jeans down just another far too short inch. "Tell me what you want. Tell me how to prove it."

"Shrimps…"

It comes out like a warning, or at least that's what you think Reagan's going for, but all you hear is pleading.

Amy tugs the jeans down past Reagan's knees, dropping to her own at the end of the bed, running her hands up and down the inside of her girlfriend's legs

(and yours grow weak every time Amy's hands move up and you have to stifle a groan every time they come back down without…)

(without.. well… you _know_)

"Do you want me to touch you?" Amy asks.

(yes)

She runs her hand up along the inside of Reagan's thigh, slowly moving it across the older girl's body, fingers just barely brushing against her clit and Reagan's hips buck up off the bed, desperate for the contact to return.

Amy grins, clearly enjoying the chance to prove herself and you - somehow - manage to focus on her, your last desperate attempt to pretend this is something it isn't

(like you about to bring yourself off in the fucking hall)

by doing everything you can to keep it clinical, educational, all about learning more about this new side of the woman you thought you knew everything about. You try to focus on the way she does things

(things like reaching up and deftly popping the front clasp on Reagan's bra and then guiding Reagan's hands to her own breasts)

(things like urging Reagan to touch herself, saying 'I like to watch you play')

(and if you forget for just a moment that she's not talking to _you _and find yourself fondling your own breasts through your shirt?)

(you're forgiven)

and you focus on how those things she does fit - or don't - with the Amy you know.

For example

(and yes, you say '_for example_' in your head because, let's face it, it sounds all teacher like and scientific and you don't think you've ever read a line that says 'for example' in any of the lesbian erotica you might - _might_ \- have perused online)

you never would have pictured Amy like this, as the aggressor. Sure, when it comes to you, Amy doesn't hold back

(at least you thought she didn't)

but with everyone else? Amy's shy, she's reserved, she keeps to herself

(mostly so she doesn't kill anyone she finds annoying)

(so, you know, ninety-five percent of the population)

and _that_ girl is - in your mind - not the topping kind.

(And yes, you know what a 'top' is.)

(You looked it up.)

To be honest, if you'd ever imagined you and Amy together, like _that_

(in a purely uncontrollable, you were asleep and cannot be held responsible for what your mind did kinda way)

(or, more recently, in a 'holy shit, that's _hot_ and I can't help myself' kinda way)

well, you were _always_ the top, the one steering the ship, leading the way. You were the one controlling Amy, doing to her _exactly _what she's doing to Reagan.

Teasing.

Playing.

Driving her fucking nuts.

And once you'd pushed her sufficiently far, once you'd worked her up to the point she couldn't even say her own name?

Then you'd make her cum.

Then there would be no more preamble, no more setting the stage, no more warming her up.

You'd drop to your knees behind her

(_always_ behind her)

and bury your tongue inside her, driving it in in one fell swoop. You'd never go slow, you'd never take your time.

You'd just fuck her.

In and out, swirling all around, hitting just the right spots, the flat palm of one hand going round and round on her clit, the other hand gripping her hips, pulling her back against you, slamming her back onto your tongue.

Until she screamed. Until she begged you to stop. Until her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the bed or the table or the park bench

(your subconscious liked to mix it up)

and then, once you'd given her all she could want, well then you weren't just top. You were teacher. You were the giver, not just of orgasms, but of knowledge.

(And yeah, that sounds _that_ fucked up in your head too.)

But that's how you two work - you leading the charge and Amy falling in line.

So of course you would have to guide her. Show her.

For example

(how's that clinical distance working for you?)

showing her just how you like your nipples pinched. A quick, sudden motion, no lingering or rolling

(not like the way Reagan's got each of her perfectly hard little nubs trapped between her fingers, gently squeezing and turning and tugging while Amy asks, again, how she should prove it)

especially if she did it at just the right moment - always as she pumped two fingers into you

(like the three she's slowly filling Reagan with)

and with the perfect extra stimulation of a flick of her tongue across your clit.

A _flick_. Not a lick. Not a suck.

Almost a slap. The flat of her tongue - always the flat - slapping against you over and over and over

(And you're starting to lose your clinical distance)

(that tends to happen when you undo your jeans and slide a hand between your legs)

and you can't see Amy's face anymore because Reagan's got her head in her hands again

(and when did that happen?)

guiding it between her legs and maybe you can't see what she's doing, but the 'fuuuuuuck' Reagan hisses out between clenched lips and the way her thighs squeeze tight around Amy's head gives you a pretty good idea what's going on.

And you can't help it, you can't control it

(and you're still awake)

and you don't even _want _to anymore so you lean back against the wall, your fingers slipping through your folds and you've never been this fucking wet

(sorry, Liam)

and you watch, even if all you can see is the back of Amy's head as she moves between Reagan's thighs and those perfect fucking abs flexing as Reagan's body arches and falls in time with Amy's tongue.

Your knees are barely holding and you sink lower on the wall, not noticing your foot bumping against the door.

You watch as Amy devours Reagan and you're not sure which of them moans louder

(or maybe it's you)

and your gaze drifts upwards, over Reagan's breasts, the ones she's mauling again with both hands, and you stare at her, watching the way her face contorts, almost as if she's in pain

(you wish Amy would fucking hurt _you_ like that)

and at the exact moment your fingers find your clit and with one motion send you careening through the loudest, wettest, and most mind-blowing orgasm of your life, you find yourself staring into Reagan's eyes, as she stares back, even as her mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out and you're not sure if either of you is even breathing and then it all goes black.

When you come back to the land of the living, Amy is kneeling next to you. You're half in the hall, half in the room and 100% fucked.

You consider, for half a second, going with the traditional 'this isn't what it looks like'

(your knees are still shaking and your hand is still in your pants)

(there's no way this isn't _exactly_ what it looks like.)

You wait for the anger, the yelling, the 'what the fuck, Karma?' that you know is coming.

But then Amy offers you her hand, helping you up and guiding you into the room, kicking the door shut behind you.

Reagan's still there, on the bed, looking about as spent as you feel. She'll be fine in a few, ready to return the favor and make Amy scream her fucking name

(that, you will find out, is Reagan's _favorite)_

but, right now? She's only got the strength for simple. Straight-forward. No fucking around.

(that'll come soon)

"Join us?"

And you're pretty sure you're still passed out on the floor and not standing here next to your best friend

(who you now realize - and can _admit_ \- you do, in fact, love _like that_)

with your hand still in your pants

(you really should do something about that)

and her freshly fucked girlfriend asking you to join in.

Amy tugs on your arm, slowly pulling your hand free from between your legs, lacing your fingers

(yes, _those_ fingers)

with hers.

"Join us?" _she _asks.

"I… I'm…." You don't know what to say, how to act, what to fucking do, so you fall back on old habits. "I'm _straight_."

Reagan smirks and you're pretty sure Amy's biting back a laugh.

"Oh yeah?" Reagan says. "Prove it."

It's a challenge. Actions speak so much louder than words.

Amy leans in, bringing your joined hands up between you and places a series of gentle kisses all along your knuckles and you know she can fucking taste you. And you know you never stood a chance.

"Prove it," she whispers.

It's a test.

One you spend the rest of the night

(and the night after that and the night after that and on and on)

failing.

Spectacularly.


	6. Waiting

_**A/N: This is based on the post going around tumblr that shows what appears to be Shane, Amy, and Karma the day after the party / pool kiss. Warning: NOT REAMY (my usual). If people like it enough, I might continue it since it would lead into the Amy-Karma 'get back on track' scene. **_

It's a brand new day and the sun is shining and Amy's waiting on Karma to wake up.

And if that isn't the story of her life…

It's the night after the party. After the nipples and the shattered gnomes and the disgusted looks from Liam and the… other thing that Amy's not thinking about and _won't _ think about until Shane mentions it. She won't because she _can't_ because she'll obsess over it and analyze it from every angle like some scene from a movie trailer she doesn't understand but she knows has to fit somehow.

She won't think about because, really, none of this is about _her_ thinking about.

It's about Karma.

Isn't it always?

Karma's on the floor at the end of the bed and, if Amy's being honest, she looks a little worse for wear, a little busted and used up. But that's what happens when you get _that_ drunk, when you throw yourself into ways to deal with your problems that aren't actually, you know, _dealing_ with the problems.

Amy would know.

Karma slept on the floor last night instead of in the bed with Amy. Mostly because that's where she passed out when Amy and Shane brought her upstairs but also because Amy, pining or not, totally pathetically hung up on Karma

(_again_)

or not, had just enough pride - and just enough memory of the looks from Liam and Lauren and, yes, even Shane - left to say no.

Not in my bed. Not tonight.

Shane was a little surprised - OK, _a lot_ surprised - but maybe, he thought, it was a sign that Amy was finally dealing, that she was reaching her breaking point, a point Shane thought any other sane person

(which immediately eliminated Amy _and_ Liam in his mind)

would have reached with Karma long ago. But he was also grateful because it gave him somewhere other than the chair or the couch downstairs or - dear God, no - _Lauren's_ bed to crash in. And Amy was fine with the company. Shane didn't snore like Reagan, he didn't hog all the blankets like Lauren, she wouldn't be terrified to wake up next to him, like with Liam.

And there wasn't much chance she'd wake up with him wrapped around her, an uncomfortable wet ache down below and absolutely no way to deal with it like every time she'd shared the bed with Karma since that first kiss in the gym.

So Shane in the bed and Karma on the floor and now it was morning and the sun was shining and Karma looks like hell.

Amy's seen her like this, once or twice, all busted and bleary eyed and not really making heads or tails of much. Once was after her gam-gam died and Karma spent the entire night wailing and crying, her tears soaking through at least three of Amy's t-shirts. The other time, the more recent one, was after prom. After her disastrous near threesome with Shane and Wade when she'd shown up broken and weary, wondering just what the hell she had done to herself.

That night, Amy had bit back the 'I told you so' and held in her own freak out about kissing Felix and prom

(and feeling nothing but almost following through with it just _because_)

and taken Karma in despite their fight at the dance. The one about Felix and Wade and Liam

(_always _fucking Liam)

and so many other things that Amy knew then - and now - were just so much covering up for the real problems, the ones that had never gone away, not really, no matter how deeply she had felt for Reagan

(and she _had_)

and no matter how much or how often Karma insisted she'd forgiven Amy for Liam

(and she _hadn't_)

and so Amy held her and listened and had been utterly not surprised - sadly - the next morning when Karma woke up looking like death but insisted

(even _before_ Amy asked)

that it was just the alcohol and the stress of prom and wondered out loud if Shane and Wade had made it home OK and asked, as subtly and off handedly as Karma ever could, if Amy had seen where Liam had gotten off to after the dance.

Amy had let it go then, like she had so many other times, only because, if she was being honest again, the problems between them weren't _Karma's_ problems. Karma wasn't the one who'd caught feelings again, she wasn't the one who couldn't get over it. And, in Karma's defense

(a phrase Amy has come to realize she probably uses more often than she should really have to)

she's been, more or less, the model best friend. She consoled Amy over Reagan. She managed, mostly, to keep her and Liam's attempts at being a couple again out of Amy's face.

It was Amy's idea to fake being a couple again for the P-Flag event and _Amy _was the one who bailed on her when Mrs. Ashcroft finally told the world her daughter was straight and she was proud, unable to handle the stark smack-in-the-face reminder that Karma wasn't - and never would be - gay. Or bi. Or whatever the hell Amy figured she'd eventually label herself as.

And, OK, maybe Karma's original idea of them going to prom together wasn't her best, but she'd been sad and desperate

(just the kind of invite every girl wants for prom)

but she'd given that notion up for Wade - maybe a little quicker than Amy would have liked but, again, _her_ problem - and Karma had been nothing but supportive, usually, of her possible… whatever… with Felix, even if Amy got the distinct impression that a straight, or at least _more_ straight than not, Amy was a load of Karma's mind

(_so _much less guilt and awkward wondering that way)

so none of this was really on Karma.

_Hadn't_ _been_ on Karma.

Right up until last night. And now it's a new day and the sun is shining and Amy's waiting, again, to find out how much Karma remembers and how she feels about it all, especially, you know, that other… thing.

The one Amy's _totally_ not thinking about.

She lets Shane take the lead because, frankly, that's what he's good at. Shane can lead the horse to water _and _make it drink and Amy knows she'd mostly likely just end up drowning the horse and herself and then everyone would die of thirst.

Sloppy metaphor, she knows. But she didn't sleep much. Like, at all.

So Shane takes the lead and Amy watches because that's what she's good at. Watching her best friend's face, reading the cues, seeing how she takes it all, gauging her reactions.

That's what Amy's good at. Reading Karma. Or at least she used to be. Right up until that thing she's waiting on Shane to mention. But he has a lot else to mention first.

Like Karma reading him the riot act and giving him shit about Wade and their kiss

(Shane and Karma's kiss not the… other thing)

right out in public for half the school to see.

Karma doesn't remember that.

Or Karma letting most of the guys there do body shots off her.

She does remember that. Vaguely. And it turns her red with embarrassment.

Or the way she'd danced on the table, her shirt soaked through, and cried out for one and all to hear that they're only nipples.

Karma glances down and Amy can see the relief in her eyes that she's changed clothes and isn't flashing anyone right here and now.

And then, of course, there was the other… thing.

"That's," Shane says, "not even getting into the kiss."

He says it all dramatic like with extra emphasis on _the kiss_ as if there was only one kiss that night and everyone who was there would know exactly what he's talking about and it's sure to be the topic on everyone's lips

(no pun intended)

and surely Karma remembers _that_. Right?

Or not.

She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember falling in the pool or Amy jumping in after her to help her save face

(and because sober Karma can't swim so drunk Karma was a drowning waiting to fucking happen)

or what she told Amy.

_I'm so lucky because I have you. You know that, right? You're my best friend… _best _friend. I love you… so love you… our friendship? Everything to me. _You're _everything to me. And all the rest… like you and Reagan or Felix or whoever… or you and Liam and sleeping together and me crying my eyes out thinking I'd lost you… water… water under the bridge._

_Or the pool. Water under the pool. Get it? and I love you and it means everything to me. _You _mean everything to me._

Karma doesn't remember that. Not the words or laughing at her own stupid joke or the way she kept staring at Amy and slowly drifting closer and closer until she was so close she leaned in for what Amy thought was a hug.

And Karma kissed her.

Karma doesn't remember that.

She doesn't remember the kiss. The sweet, wet, tasting vaguely of chlorine and tequila kiss, the loving kiss, the I can feel your tongue dragging across my bottom lip and this is not how _best friends_ kiss kiss.

Karma doesn't remember. Her eyes grow wide and her hands cradle her head and she brushes her wild and drunkenly strewn hair from her face, muttering "Oh, my God," over and over under her breath.

She doesn't remember.

She doesn't remember that Amy's right there watching and that, better than anyone, Amy _knows exactly_ what Karma looks like when she's acting, when she's putting on a show when she is, if Amy's being honest, _lying_.

Karma remembers. All of it. And Amy knows it and she knows what's she's been waiting fror.

And as Amy stands from the bed, offering to go make them all some coffee and heads for the door, she's not surprised

(and that only makes it hurt more)

to hear Karma ask Shane, "Did Liam see it?"

And then Amy's out of the room and down the stairs and past a confused Farrah and Lauren and nowhere near the coffee pot and grabbing her bag and her jacket and out the front door.

It's a brand new day and the sun is shining and Amy's not waiting anymore.


	7. Someday

_**A/N: I've been accused of being Anti-Karma. Maybe this will change a mind or two (maybe). Based on the scene from the trailer when Karma tears the picture out of her locker. **_

Three months.

Karma remembers when three _days _seemed like forever, when going three days without Amy seemed longer to her than the entire rest of her life stretching out in front of her. Three months… she couldn't have _imagined_.

She still can't.

There were days this summer she swore would never end and times when it seemed like everything was going by faster than a breath. But _every one_ of them was a day when she missed Amy so much it made every bit of her hurt, when she only made it out of bed because she knew if she didn't, Shane would show up and drag her out, kicking and screaming.

Once was enough.

Her mother talked to her, endlessly it seemed, about how time healed all wounds, even broken hearts. Karma listened and nodded and cried appropriately because she knew it was what Molly (and her father and Shane and even Liam when he breezed back into town for a week) wanted to see and hear.

Still seeking approval… sometimes Karma wondered if she'd ever fucking change cause if Amy _leaving_ hadn't done it...

She didn't bother trying to explain it to them, didn't bother trying to get them to understand that her heart wasn't _broken_. Her heart was on a bus somewhere in some city she didn't know with some people she'd never met and it was in the hands of the one person she'd thought would never hurt it.

Maybe, Karma thought from time to time, she should have reconsidered _that_ idea after the _first _time, after Liam and the lies and…

From time to time she made a point to _not_ think about _that_ because it just made those interminably long days even longer and there was only so much of _that_ she could take.

Sometimes, when Molly wasn't trying to cheer her up or her father wasn't trying so fucking awkwardly to talk to her about anything _but_ Amy or when Shane wasn't trying to keep her busy with lifeguarding and updating her wardrobe and incessant probing at her feelings

(and not so subtly suggesting that maybe, just _maybe_, some of the reason she was so upset was because she felt something she didn't want to or wasn't ready to explore just yet and really, _no fuck Shane_, which part of 'not ready' was too fucking big for you?)

Karma thought about _that_ time and about how easily, really, she'd let herself think that she'd forgiven Amy. And _that_ she realized was really all it was - _thinking_ she'd done it, telling herself that she'd forgiven Amy because she _had_ to, because the alternative…

Well, the alternative was just unthinkable. The alternative was life without Amy and the alternative just _wouldn't do_.

Three months. Three fucking months she'd spent living the alternative. Three _fucking_ months she'd spent without Amy not because of what Amy had done but because of what she'd done in a desperate and broken and drunken moment.

And yeah, Karma saw the _irony_ of it all. Saw it so fucking clear.

Amy could fuck Liam and lie about it for months. Amy could fuck her _boyfriend_

(and no, Karma did _not_ give even one _single_ fuck that she and Liam had broken up _before_ the fucking or that their entire relationship had been based on _her_ lie because _fuck that_, those fucking _details_ were kinda unimportant when your best-friend fucks your boyfriend)

and Karma would forgive. Karma would _have _to forgive and _have_ to forget (or try to, _pretend_ to.) Karma would move the hell on and do her level best to ignore that she was homeless, that her parents had gone to jail, that Liam's father had basically treated her like a prostitute (except in reverse and that kinda made it _worse_), that Amy had moved on with Reagan and then Felix, Liam had moved on with Zita and Shane's sister and she couldn't even beat out Shane for an admittedly not all that attractive and clearly desperation prom night fuck.

Amy could fuck Karma's boyfriend and Karma would do all that. Would _have _to do all that because she couldn't stand the thought of even a _week_ without Amy.

And Karma could _kiss_ Amy. One single, solitary drunken worst night of my life kiss. One single 'yes, I know it was a fuck up but I was drunk and hurting and you could've pushed me away and not put your fucking tongue in my mouth' kiss.

And Amy would leave.

Karma forgave. Amy left.

Amy left _fucking town_.

Yeah, that seemed fair. That seemed right. That seemed about par for the fucking course and yeah, Karma got it. She understood. She knew Amy needed to get over her, she knew Amy needed time and space to try and heal. Karma wasn't stupid and she wasn't _that_ oblivious and could have - she so _could have_ \- lied. She could have said the kiss meant something.

(even if that wasn't entirely a lie and she wasn't _sure_ it was but then, she wasn't sure it _wasn't_ either and lying about that would have been so much fucking _worse_)

and kept Amy there. But she didn't. She told the truth as best she knew it.

"I can't."

She couldn't, so Amy didn't (stay) and really, when she thinks about it (so often, way more often than she should, way too long up on her little lifeguard chair when she should be watching for people drowning) Karma thinks that, really, _that's_ it in a nutshell.

She couldn't.

She couldn't give _Amy_ what _Amy _wanted and so Amy walked away and _yes_ (fuck you, yes) she _knows _it isn't that simple and she knows Amy didn't just abandon her.

But knowing it and _feeling_ it? Yeah, those are two very different things.

Kind of like _this_. Kind of like _knowing_ Amy's going to be back today, _knowing_ she's going to be in school, within seeing and shouting (and hugging and slapping and really, Karma's not sure which) distance. She knows it from the minute she gets to school, from the second she walks into the building, from the moment she opens her locker and finds herself face to photographed face with the person who took her heart and _left_.

Karma couldn't stand the thought of life without Amy.

Amy _needed_ life without Karma.

She reaches out and grips the corner of the picture between her fingers and pauses, just for a second. For just that moment, the doubts and hesitation creep in (right behind the _love_ and the _so glad she's back_ and the _fuck, I missed her_) and Karma thinks about being the better person.

Karma's _known_ this day was coming every minute of every day (be they slow or fast, easy or hard and fuck _that_, they were _all_ hard) for the last three months. And now that it's here?

She has no idea how to feel about that.

But as she tears the picture from her locker and crumples it in her hand, she does know one thing.

Being the better person is fucking overrated.

* * *

She sees her in the lunch line first.

It's maybe the weirdest moment in her life which, given who her parents are and that she spent a day in jail, fucked in a thunderbox, and faked being a lesbian, is really saying something.

Karma never imagined she'd see Amy from across a crowded room and, even for the briefest, tiniest most split of split-seconds, not recognize her. It's like putting on a new pair of glasses for the first time (and no, she doesn't think about the rose-tinted metaphor she knows would fit here) and watching everything work its way back into focus, slowly resolve from a blob of misshapen blur to… well…

Amy.

There's a moment - a quick one - when Karma considers running, when she actually thinks about darting from the cafeteria and finding the nearest janitor's closet to hide in. But then Shane is there, at her elbow, gently steering her out of the path of everyone else, out of the line she's not even aware she's holding up.

"You haven't talked to her," he says and Karma knows it isn't a question and, despite the tone she knows he isn't judging (three months has given her more insight and understanding of Shane Harvey than she ever thought she'd want). He's become her… well… her _Amy_.

And how _fucked up_ is _that_?

She shakes her head. "I hadn't seen her till now," Karma says, carefully leaving off the 'I could have, if I hadn't changed my schedule - _twice_ \- just to avoid having morning classes with her' part. "Have you?" she asks. "Talked to her, I mean?"

Shane tugs on her arm gently, guiding her out of the way of the crowd and over to the far wall of the cafeteria, as far removed from the line (Amy) as possible without actually _leaving_ the room and glances back at the line where Amy is still standing, just out of place with everyone else, her tray full as she makes what he assumes is idle chit chat with Erma. "Yeah," he says, turning his eyes back to Karma to gauge her reaction. "For a minute, before English. You know, the class _you_ were supposed to be in."

Karma avoids his eyes. "Schedule change," she says. "I needed a math class and Mr. Walsh was only teaching the one and…" She drifts off as she feels his eyes burning a hole in her _tiny_ little lie. "Fine. I switched out."

Shane leans against the wall and doesn't seem to notice his hand is still on her arm. "You changed your entire year to avoid her for one day?"

"Who says it's for _one_?" Karma snaps, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

"Karma…"

"Don't," she says. "Don't 'Karma' me, Shane." She feels it all welling up inside her and she _knows_ it isn't Shane's fault but there's that knowing and feeling thing again. "All summer long, it's been 'Karma…' this and 'Karma…' that. 'Karma… don't you think maybe you're taking this a little too personally? Karma… don't you think maybe this has a little less to do with Amy and a little more to do with you? Karma… don't you think this should tell you something about how you _feel_?"

"Karma -"

She snatches her arm away from him, her voice growing louder with every word, enough to rise above the steady waterfall of chatter in the cafeteria. "_Don't_," she says again. "Don't even fucking start. Don't tell me how I feel, don't tell me what I should do, and don't tell me that I need to talk to her because, quite fucking frankly, right now I don't know if I _ever _want to talk to her again!"

Karma glares at him, the anger coming off of her in waves but she doesn't pull away when he gently puts his hand back on her arm and slowly turns her.

Straight to Amy.

Amy who's standing there with her tray in her hands and Karma has a moment, a single second of clarity, when she wonders how the other girl is holding onto it when her hands are shaking like that and when she notices that there's two of _everything_ on the tray, right down to the little cup of flan and she wonders if Amy's just that hungry

(like _that's_ not a reasonable question)

or if she was planning some sort of peace-making lunch offering because obviously Karma's too poor to afford to buy her own and so she needs her best friend's help and it's not charity or a bribe it's just love and really…. _really_?

_Fuck that_.

"Karma…"

She hears her best friend's voice for the first time in three months

(and no, she is _not_ fucking counting the videos of them she watched or the clips of Amy singing (badly) with Pussy Explosion that she saw on Facebook or the dreams she had every single night)

and she wants, so fucking badly, to smack the tray out of Amy's hands so the blonde can just fucking hold her (and she doesn't care even a teeny-tiny bit _how_) but all she can _see_, all she can _hear _is how familiar it is. How much the look on Amy's face and the helpless, hopeless, 'I know I fucked up' tone in her voice reminds her.

_At least it wasn't with Amy_

_Have a good summer, Karma_

And the words come, the ones she's been thinking for three solid months, for every second of every day, through every moment with Shane, through every talk with her mother, through every single second she'd never expected to live through. They come unbidden and they hang there between them and Karma knows - she fucking _knows_ \- that for the good of their friendship, she should take them back. She should bury them. She should shove them down and let every single bygone be fucking gone.

"Fuck you," she says. "Just… _fuck you_."

She _knows_ she should take them back.

She just doesn't feel like it.

* * *

It takes Amy about twenty minutes to find her, which is fifteen more than Karma had figured, so either Amy had somehow forgotten everything about her in three months…

Or she'd totally been stalling.

"Get your pep talk from Shane?" Karma asks as Amy steps onto the roof. "He give you all the right words to say?"

"Karma?" Amy stays by the door, genuinely afraid to take even one more step because Karma's standing on the ledge. Not _by_ it. _On_ it. And Amy doesn't know…

Fuck.

She doesn't know anything anymore.

"I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking," Karma says. "I just like the view."

"The view?" Amy asks. "But you hate -"

"I _hate_ a lot of things," Karma cuts her off. "The way Liam always held my face in his hands when we kissed, for example. His fingers always smelled like paint and rusty metal shit from his stupid fucking art."

She takes one step sideways on the ledge and Amy feels her heart bottom out and she lets out a little gasp and Karma hates (fucking _hates_) the tiny smile that little noise brings to her lips.

It means Amy cares. And it means she's in pain. And Karma wishes she knew which of those was more important to her right now.

"And _that's_ another one," Karma says. "His _art_. I mean, seriously? That 'Karma' sculpture thingy? For God's sake, why not just title it 'I realized I was a fuckboy now can I please get back in your pants?'" She takes another small step, her feet sliding together in perfect sync as she moves. "Of course, it _worked_ for him so I suppose I shouldn't judge too harshly."

"Karma," Amy says, taking one small step closer. "Please get down." There's an undercurrent - no, a fucking _current _(no under needed), - a Goddamned tsunami's worth of fear in her best friend's voice.

"No."

It's a simple word, really. One syllable and it isn't like Karma hasn't said 'no' to her before

_just not like that_

_I can't_

but somehow this one hurts a bit more and Amy takes one more step. "Karma, _please_."

"I hate heights," Karma says but she makes no move to get down. "Fucking hate 'em. Always have, always will." She lets one foot dangle off the edge

(and Amy can't fucking breathe)

before she hops backward, landing safely on the roof, her back still to Amy. "I dove off the high dive this summer," she says, matter of factly and without even a hint of pride, though it's _easily_ number one or two on her proudest moments list. "In fact, I got fucking _good_ at it. Better than Shane, better than everyone else in our class."

The 'not that you'd know anything about that' goes unsaid as Amy bows her head, trying to get her heart to start beating again and Karma wonders if hers will ever slow the fuck down.

"I hate heights," Karma says. "But I'm not _afraid _of them anymore. I know I can handle them," she says as she turns and even though she's facing her, Amy still can't see her eyes and Karma doesn't slow down even a bit as she moves.

Amy watches as Karma walks toward her and she braces for anything. A hug, a slap, a kiss… fuck, a punch in the mouth wouldn't be a shock.

"I suppose I sort of have you to thank for that," Karma says. She walks right past Amy to the open roof door. "And maybe someday, I will."

The door shuts behind her and Amy just stands there for a long while, rooted in her spot, afraid to look over the edge.


End file.
